


Blood and Shadow

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, F/F, Femslash, Magnificent Evil Ladies, Thees and Thous, repurposing old drafts for queer reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Meássë is among the first to adopt a physical form. Thuringwethil prefers the freedom of shifting shape.
Relationships: Meássë/Thuringwethil (Tolkien)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	Blood and Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2015??? which is SO long ago, wow. I didn't even realize I was into the Silm in 2015?? That was definitely the time of my Hobbit heyday, but I guess I was dipping my toes into the deeper lore every now and then!  
> Anyway, since the first section was written 5 years ago and the second two sections written yesterday, I hope it's not too jarring of a transition. And I am definitely glad I got to finish this up!!
> 
> For B2MeM 3/17/20. My prompts were Haudh-en-Nírnaeth [Silm Locations], "Where you walk, I go with you" [Last Line], and “For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so" [Official Prompt]. I considered doing some Angbang, buuut then I remembered this story and I was like "oh. yeah. that's literally how it starts lmao."
> 
> ETA 5/18/20: Reread this and realized I fucked the timelines up; Beren and Luthien (and Thuringwethil's "death") happens /before/ the Nirnaeth in canon... oh well, it would be too much work to fix it now. Enjoy with that disclaimer in mind!

Meássë is a rebel. She defies definition, searches for her own meaning in the wonders of Arda. Hers is a spirit of iron and fire and above all, blood. She is a Maia of great power, and she will not be contained.

But she is not cruel. She is fierce, not furious. She is passionate, not flighty. And though she is intrigued by the workings of violent Melkor, she venerates Eru Ilúvatar as all Ainur ought.

Thuringwethil is a diplomat. She elucidates, draws clarity out of the mirky Void. Hers is a spirit of silver and mist and above all, shadow. She is a Maia of great wisdom, and she will not be controlled.

But she is not devious. She is clever, not libelous. She is soft-spoken, not snarky. And though she is enchanted by the whisperings of crafty Mairon, she delights in Eru's Arda as all his children ought.

In a time before the Eldar and as Arda first is marred, no Ainur dare align themselves with dread Melkor. Not even Mairon, fair and deceitful, openly declares allegiance to a terrible lord.

Meássë is among the first to adopt physical form. She models herself a mountain of a figure, strong and awe-inspiring. She and her brother Makar explore the wilderness of Aman, hunting beasts and bringing home their heads as trophies. The other Maiar admire and fear their boldness; no Valar appreciate them, not even Oromë or Tulkas.

Thuringwethil sits at the foot of Manwë, but her spirit is no longer pure. She is an interpreter, soft and kind; her master would shape her into a bird, one of his Eagles that watch over the Children yet to come, but she resents such...restrictions. She takes no form but that of a cloud drifting on the wind, listening and biding her time.

All the Ainur watch as Mairon takes his leave of Aman. He declares the Valar foolish, Eru oppressive, and sings sweet words of his Master and Beloved, Melkor. Meássë is among those decrying his betrayal, but Thuringwethil sees the fear in her heart.

She follows the lady who is a mountain into the north, alone. Not even Makar accompanies her on this journey. But Thuringwethil is there, observing. Mairon's words eat at her heart, too, and she no longer sits in complacency by Manwë's throne.

She drifts through Meássë's wild hair, laughing. Meássë stiffens, pulls her into the open. She is strong, and Thuringwethil does not resist.

"Who art thou, spirit?" Meássë growls. "Show thyself!"

"For thee, I take form." Thuringwethil obliges. She shifts, claiming a figure of her own for the first time: she is still but a wavering image on the wind, a woman of shade and twilight.

"Why has thou followed me hence?" Meássë demands.

"I see thy troubled heart, and share it," Thuringwethil says. "Mairon revealed it to us all: we are slaves to the Valar, tools of the Holy One."

"I call him not Holy," Meássë spits. "Nay, he is only Great and Awful!"

"As art thou," Thuringwethil observes. "As am I. But I wish I no longer to spy for Manwë—I shall go to Melkor in the East. But I desire not to go alone." She tilts her head in question, wondering.

"If Makar wills it," Meássë begins, but she pauses. "No. I will go with thee, ghostly spirit. My brother will follow, or nay, but we are not one."

Thuringwethil shimmers, solidifying. She kisses Meássë's cheek and murmurs, "I am glad to be with thee, mighty one; thou hast a huntress' spirit, and perhaps could teach me to love the taste of blood."

* * *

Meássë stills, feeling a disturbance in the air. Shadows alight upon her shoulders, broad and stony, and her mouth twitches in a semblance of a smile.

"Shadow-woman," she rumbles, the sound reverberating throughout her body. "Long has it been since I saw thee."

The ghost of a laugh dances through Meássë's blood-matted hair, and Thuringwethil shifts, draping her arms over Meássë's shoulders. Meássë smells blood on her breath, feels her fangs prick at her neck, but does not acknowledge the threat.

"I have been hunting," she hisses. "Supping at the blood of the Children, picking off those few survivors of this battle." She nips at Meássë's ear, leaping into the air on her bat wings as Meássë moves to swat her away.

"Wilt thou not play with me?" Thuringwethil teases, eyes glinting in the dark. "Come, Meássë. We came to these shores together, and thou spake it thyself: it has been long since we did our dance together."

"I stand guard," Meássë says, gesturing to the mound of death beside her. "I cannot depart my post."

Thuringwethil sniffs, spitting upon the pile of bodies. "They call it the Haudh-en-Nírnaeth," she says in a voice laden with scorn. "They shed tears over it. Blood is sweeter, o mighty Meássë, and shadow thicker. They will not come to this place."

"Nevertheless, I watch over our victory," Meássë replies, her voice even. "The King commands it."

Thuringwethil sighs, her visage thinning. She is a shapeshifter in every sense, flitting in and out of vision, at one moment a breath away from Meássë's throat and the next a specter in the distance. She consolidates atop the mound of the dead, her wings spread wide.

"The King, the King," she dismisses. "I serve the Prince, and thou dost not see me fettered to any post!"

"Thou art drunk, glutted on thy prey," Meássë dismisses. "Speak not such words, for the King of Arda hears all blaspheming words."

"I left Aman to be free," Thuringwethil says. In a blink she is a woman, arms wrapped around Meássë's thick and sinewed neck. "Not to be bound to a new master. I am bound to _nothing_ , not even flesh."

Meássë grunts, headbutting her so that she tumbles backward. "And yet my strength is of my flesh," she remarks, flexing her arms and tossing her great axe from hand to hand. "I do not recall thee being so scornful of my body, of my _perseverance_ in what I swear to do, the last time we met, shadow woman."

Thuringwethil laughs. "Come with me, Meássë," she beckons, grasping her hands as she floats into the smoky air. "I follow my Prince to Tol-in Gaurhoth, but he cannot keep me there long. We shall roam, and hunt, together."

Meássë considers; the prospect is exciting, and no matter her feigned disdain, Thuringwethil is good company.

But alas: "Nay," she says at last, "I have been promised a feast of terror by the King, and he keeps his promises to those who are faithful."

Thuringwethil sighs, sending shivers down Meássë's spine, and wings away with a final call: "I will find thee again, my mighty friend—and we shall hunt together then!"

* * *

She waits, pushing down the anger boiling within her. She must bide her time, not struggle against the chains that bind her, or she will be damned before she has her chance to escape.

But it is not in her nature to be still, to be restrained. She can guard and fight and slaughter with precision, but she is no beast to be bound. And yet, Meássë can make no move, or else she will be tied down for ever.

"Thy mighty form is at the mercy of the Valar," hums a familiar voice. Meássë whips her head up, glaring at the bat hanging from the ceiling of the cave. There is little room, here in her makeshift prison, for she fills the space with her bulk and her rage, and no room for a bat to crawl inside—but a vapor, a shadow, a thought...yes, that could enter, secretly.

"Thuringwethil?" she growls. "I thought thou wert slain, afore the War."

The bat chitters its laughter. "Nay," she teases, "I was _freed_. The Prince thought me dead, and the King also—I lent my raiment to the witch-woman, the half-holy, and in shedding my skin I shed my past." The bat cocks her head. "Such a shame thou let thyself be entrapped so easily, mighty warrior."

A rumble builds in Meássë's throat. "I slaughtered armies," she spits. "I cast down mountains. I am _powerful_ , in a way thou couldst never be."

"Perhaps it is my weakness that left me so wounded," Thuringwethil muses. She alights on Meássë's shoulder, shifting her wings into claws that tear through the chains easily. "I would have found thee sooner, were I not yet licking my wounds."

"I could tear the earth from beneath the feet of the Valar," Meássë swears, "and I would do it, too, were it not sure to end me. Though I would see my end either way."

"Nay," Thuringwethil disagrees. She slices the last of the chains, and Meássë's restraints fall away. "Thou wilt live, and not in bondage."

Meássë shakes her mighty arms, and the cavern around her trembles. She laughs, licking her lips clean of ancient blood. "Why dost thou free me?" She feels power course through her fiery veins, and she would roar and claw her way out, but for Thuringwethil's presence as a cloud of smoke above her shoulder.

"I said thou wouldst hunt at my side, and thou wilt," she whispers. "Now we neither of us answer to any master. We were foolish to trade one for another, at the dawn of Arda. Wilt thou be my companion, Meássë?"

"I cannot fly at thy side," Meássë warns. "I am still a thing of rock and flesh. I thirst for blood as thou dost, but my desires are more...carnal."

"I will fly, and thou canst walk," Thuringwethil says, curling arms of smoke about her neck. "Blood and shadow in harmony, our own Song. We need not be the same, only _together_."

"Then lead me from this place!" Meássë cries, following Thuringwethil's shadow into the open air. "Wherever thou goest, I will walk with thee!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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